Unexpected Glamour
by stagepageandscreen
Summary: Or the time the Amis did a fashion show."It was all Courfeyrac's fault," Enjolras pronounced icily, returning to his paper."As most things are," Grantaire added. "But what happened?" Eponine cajoled. "It can't have been that bad!"The rest of the group shared a look, one that seemed to express a horror that they could not truly verbalize.


**A/N Sorry for the long break but I've been busy. Anyway, here is another instalment in the 'Storytime with Courfeyrac' series.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Unexpected glamour**

"A bake sale?" Enjolras stared at her witheringly over the top of his newspaper. He was one of the only people that Eponine knew who still read a hard-copy newspaper and didn't just read it online.

"What's wrong with a bake sale?" She felt the need to defend her idea. "You said you wanted ways to raise money for Amnesty International. So what have you got against a bake sale?"

"I can bake most of it," Jehan offered. "And I can use organic ingredients if that's what's bothering you…though that will put the cost up."

"I can help him," Courfeyrac offered. "I'm good at baking too."

"No," Combeferre commented dryly, "you're good at _eating_ the confectionary after it's been baked. There's a difference."

Courfeyrac shrugged good-naturedly and saw no need to comment on this universal truth.

"You should do another fashion show," Cosette said idly, picking a knot out of her blond braid. "That worked really well last time."

The sudden hush that fell over the group was so noticeable that it drew even Musichetta's attention from over at the counter.

"I do seem to remember Courfeyrac saying something about a fashion show once," Eponine mused, flicking her gaze around her group of friends, keen to discover this next piece of history. "But I couldn't really get anything out of him. Something about Enjolras would make his death look like an accident?"

The newspaper lowered once more to allow its owner to fix Courfeyrac, who had gone a starling shade of white, with a hard, cold stare. Enjolras held it and held it, until Courfeyrac made the mistake of glancing upwards and was promptly hit head-on by his friend's patented death glare.

With a yelp that was probably involuntary, he lurched backwards, sending his chair (which was already balanced precariously on two legs) tumbling to the floor.

"It was all Courfeyrac's fault," Enjolras pronounced icily, returning to his paper.

"As most things are," Grantaire added, scrutinizing Bossuet's hand as he attempted to draw it accurately.

"But what _happened_?" Eponine cajoled. "It can't have been that bad!"

The rest of the group shared a look, one that seemed to express a horror that they could not truly verbalize.

"Can it?" she finished warily.

The folded newspaper hit the table with a slap. "Yes," Enjolras replied. "Yes, it can…and Courfeyrac is going to tell you why. And Jehan…" He held up a warning finger. "If you play the music from that damn 'Mystical Music' app one more time…"

Jehan unwillingly slipped his phone back into the pocket of his turquoise trousers with a sad little pout.

"I like the music, Jehan" Eponine whispered, patting him comfortingly on the back and earning a bright smile for her trouble.

"You were saying, Courfeyrac?" Enjolras prompted, as the unusually unwilling storyteller regained his seat.

"Well," he nervously cleared his throat, "it all started with a _little_ bit of a misunderstanding…"

* * *

"I am so pleased that you have agreed to assist us, sir," Enjolras enthused as he led _Monsieur _Valjean, the university dean, along one of the upper corridors to the meeting room of _Les Amis_.

"Well, it is good to see students involving themselves with charitable organizations or current affairs. A group that is engaged with both was guaranteed to catch my interest." Valjean spoke with a smile curling the corners of his mouth. He liked Enjolras. He was a good boy, even if he was a little too serious at times.

"Now, I left my associates to prepare an example of what we were considering our fundraiser to be about," Enjolras continued, sounding as professional and serious as he could. A small flicker of worry passed over his face as he heard music coming from their meeting room. He hoped that they had set up the placards and banner ideas he had left them. "It's just in here," he said, opening the door with a calm smile.

The scene that met him made his heart sink, the smile sliding off his face as quickly as Bossuet on an ice rink. The placards, that he had so painstakingly drawn up, despite his lack of affinity with artistic mediums, were balanced precariously on several chairs. The concept art for the inspirational banners was piled haphazardly on the easels dotted in preparation around the room.

Grantaire was sat at the computer at the front of the room, obviously in charge of the music blaring out over the room's speakers – LMFAO's 'I'm Sexy and I Know it'. The room's two tables were dragged in line with one another and strutting up and down their length, a sparkling feather-boa wrapped around his neck…was Courfeyrac. Even as Enjolras and Valjean watched, he began an enthusiastic if somewhat clumsy striptease, twirling his plaid shirt around his head before throwing it into his group of whooping friends that surrounded the make-shift catwalk.

"I think we might have the wrong room," Enjolras said, trying to back out, hopelessly attempting to divert Valjean's attention away from the humiliating disaster this meeting had become. But at that moment, Grantaire spotted the two onlookers and cut the music, leaving Courfeyrac to gyrate foolishly for a moment with no accompaniment.

"Hey, put it back on, Taire!" Bahorel yelled.

"I was enjoying that," Musichetta agreed, giving Courfeyrac a not completely platonic wink.

In a truly admirable show of paralinguistics, Grantaire somehow managed to telegraph that they were no longer alone and probably destined for almost certain death in the very near future.

Almost as one, the group turned to face the door, taking in Enjolras' shell-shocked expression of despair and Valjean's bemused grin.

"Well, I must say, Enjolras, I was most certainly not expecting this!" Placing a hand on his shoulder, Valjean moved past the despairing young man to survey the chaos before him. "I was expecting concise organization, clear-cut ideas, and placards with emotive slogans."

It was possible to see Enjolras curling in on himself, the humiliation and disappointment he was feeling obvious to all. The Amis shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, even Courfeyrac…despite the fact that he was still on the table and was wearing nothing on his upper half but a feather-boa. Combeferre tried to catch his friend's eye, the guilt eating him up, but Enjolras was staring resolutely at the floor, preparing himself to be dismissed and depreciated.

Valjean must have noticed the aura of abject misery that hung about the room. "No, no!" he reassured them, "I'm not disappointed! I'm actually very impressed."

Enjolras' head snapped up and he looked at the dean as if he was insane.

"Yes," Valjean reiterated, "I _am_ impressed. I was not expecting you to come up with something as original and dynamic as a university fashion show."

"A…a f-fashion show?" Enjolras stammered, robbed of all eloquence, so great was his horror.

"Yes!" Courfeyrac cried, leaping down off the table. He had spotted an opportunity to save his skin and he was taking it. "That's exactly what we thought! I mean, everybody does bake-sales or sponsored rallies or car-washes…but we thought, '_Why not break the mold, smash the mold, be bold, be brave, broaden the horizons of fundraising and create an event that will involve people from multiple departments of the university_?'."

"Precisely," Joly chimed in, his voice only wavering slightly. "We need to make the event about the university as a whole, not just our club. Let everyone get involved…create a sense of university nationalism, if you like."

"Well, Enjolras," Valjean said, reaching out to shake the disorientated blonde by the hand, "you have my full support and as much funding as I can scrape together." He clapped the young man on the shoulder. "Good job." With that he exited the room, chuckling quietly to himself. Sometimes, being deliberately obtuse could lead to some very positive results. He had no doubt that the fashion show would be a hit all round, especially with somebody like Enjolras in charge of it.

Back in the room, the group were rather nervously facing their chief.

"Um, Enjolras," Jehan ventured, quietly tucking the feather-boa back into his bag, "are…are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he bit out, muscles coiling and bunching beneath his thin shirt as he watched Courfeyrac creep towards the door. "Will you just excuse Courfeyrac and myself for a moment?"

At that second Courfeyrac bolted, dashing out of the door and away from his friend. Several students on their way to class were treated to the sight of a shirtless Courfeyrac sprinting for his life from a furious avenging angel.

As Courfeyrac's yells for mercy faded into the distance, Combeferre turned to the room at large. "Right," he announced with genuine joviality. "Let's start planning this fashion show shall we?"

* * *

"I don't understand," Eponine said, glancing quizzically between a glowering Enjolras and a guilty-looking Courfeyrac. "Valjean loved it and from what I've heard from asking around campus, you guys raised a ton of money. So why is Enjolras still pissed?"

"Well," it was Combeferre who spoke now, "we had a slight mix-up on the night because one of our models didn't show up."

"So?"

"So Cosette got Enjolras press-ganged into modelling," Bahorel finished.

"I didn't mean to cause such a fuss!" Cosette said, upset. "I only mentioned that Enjolras' colouring would suit that outfit. I didn't expect you all to push him into it."

"You did look excellent," Grantaire said, apparently unaware of the furious glare he was receiving. "Some of the finest shots in my portfolio are from that night."

"I looked _ridiculous_," Enjolras fumed, "and the comments afterwards…"

"Wait, wait," Eponine cut in, finally piecing something together, "are you saying that you hated the whole experience because you got hit on afterwards?"

"I don't like being objectified," he snapped, pushing his chair back roughly and stalking over to the counter to order another green tea.

"He is such a weirdo," Eponine announced, shaking her head in disbelief. "He is a – fairly – normal heterosexual male…and he doesn't enjoy female attention."

"Well, it's kind of to be expected after the whole incident with that girl…" Jehan said absently before stopping midsentence with a look of profound guilt on his face.

Eponine's eyes narrowed and one eyebrow rose questioningly.

Combeferre sighed. "Damn it."

* * *

**A/N Another instalment done! Please review!**

**Libz xx**


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